


Roadrat: 1812

by Skepsiss



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bombs, Fluff, Gore, Junkhog, M/M, Romance, Russia, Snow, chapter three is pure, roadrat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skepsiss/pseuds/Skepsiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(A lovely little anon asked for Mako feeling guilty over failing ‘Rat. So! Story mostly from ‘Hog’s perspective which I don’t do often. )</p>
<p>"The white made way for red, and the red turned black as the singed and melted path before him started to reveal itself. Snow changing to dirty, and burnt grass as even the dampest of ground still kept an air of fire to them from the blast. The sound he had heard way off in this silent world that seemed to echo through the country and shake him to his core. <br/>He had failed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1812

**Author's Note:**

> And junkphilia (on tumblr) helped me with this by giving me some key words to work off of. (Words being CD and Russia).

Cloud white; the grey stones were covered in the powdered fall of snow. Packed and fluffy after days of snow fall; something Australians were not likely to see. Something so many in cold climates took for granted.   
The pristine white, the look of freshness and purity that seemed to cover the land. Silence everywhere; the blanket effect that snow seemed to have on the world around it. It was such a strong force, such a heavy feeling that set into your spine and your soul and seemed to carry you across the ground in a ballet.  
White.

White everywhere. 

 

The foot prints and tire treads, so pure.   
A solid line of red shot out across the ground, inking the white ground and causing the snow to steam from its warmth. The stain spread across it, now jolting in lines and drips and sprays as the furl of snow encompassed the world. Warm still, starting to freeze from being out for too long. 

Roadhog trudged down the path, body quilted in warm clothes that were far too cumbersome. He hadn’t his free movement, the speed he usually used with his shirtless-ness and light equipment. No—he was bogged down by warmth, and furs, and the heavy snow that whipped past him.  
His mind reeling like the storm in front of him, making it hard to see, hard to make out the figures on the hem of the skyline.   
But he followed the blood, followed the little spurts of red that contrasted so sharply against the white and the hazy blue of the evening sky. He was getting closer, he was closing in, and despite the weight Mako was moving as fast as he could. His boots sticking to the icy ground, making him skim as he found more and more ponds of the sickeningly red liquid. 

The white made way for red, and the red turned black as the singed and melted path before him started to reveal itself. Snow changing to dirty, and burnt grass as even the dampest of ground still kept an air of fire to them from the blast. The sound he had heard way off in this silent world that seemed to echo through the country and shake him to his core.   
He had failed.   
He had always held himself in high regards with his work; it wasn’t the cleanest, or the neatest, or the best thought out, but he always did the job. He worked until it was finished, following the rules as guidelines; getting the grit out of the way. But now… this… that explosion that been the sound of his failure. Announcing itself to the world. 

The black burns made way to red once more as the storm whipped past Roadhog’s face. He dared not call out as he approached the scene. A man lay not far from his side, coated in heavy furs and facing downwards. He was missing his bottom half, and the blood was starting to congeal on the icy ground. He passed—passed the dead man, a boot, a spare hand crisp and fleshy in the pit of the explosion.   
His pace quickening. 

Distantly Mako could make out the foggy sound of humming—a ballet. A solo orchestra of a song that seemed to cut across the landscape and reach him as if he was in a dream. It was hazy, filtered through a bottle as he came across the scene, pushed through it and followed the wondering footsteps away from the blast. Tchaikovsky fitting into the landscape like a true Russian as the swirl of snow filled the land. The hum getting jolted by coughs now, phlegmy sounding coughs, but it never truly broke the humming. 

Da dun da dun da da da daa da dum.

 

Roadhog looked to the dirty snow, the sluggish and dragging footprints through the snow, dark looking blood pooling on the ground around the scuff marks. Slowly, the sound, the humming became clearer and clearer against the blizzard around them. The 1812 Overture chiming across the landscape in a broken tone; Junkrat had always been a bit tone deaf.   
Mako finally came onto the man, his twisted little body collapsed in a snow bank, arms folded over his chest as he stared up at the sky. A dreamy look to his expression.   
His one good arm burns and bleeding, the other leaking oil and scrapped to bits—metal fingers missing as the clasp at the elbow hung loose ready to fall. His torso a strew of dirt and burns, the wounds hued in blue as his body shivered into the snow. Shirtless still. Torso a mess of holes and cuts, a few leaking bullet wounds in his shoulders as his chest rose steadily from the humming. Boot was gone, and his foot were red with frostbite—nothing too serious yet. Right?   
His little face plastered with a grin as he looked dazed into the stormy sky, ice sticking to his brows and his hair. Making him look more like an ice sculpture then a man.   
“Jamie,” ‘Hog growled, his voice guarded as he approached the man and sheathed his hook.   
Junkrat continued to hum, not even looking over at the other. “Oh, hey Roadie.” He muttered, his voice dreamy as he stayed looking at the sky. 

Mako was on him like a hunter, his little pray too weak to move; big hands picking him up and out of the snow. Sweat was breaking out over Roadhog’s neck, the nervousness apparent in his grip as he hoisted Jamison up and out of the snow. He was pulling off his jacket with shaking hands, wrapping the smaller man as the blood leaked out of him and into the snow.   
Junkrat’s head lulled, finally turning to look at the other with that still complacent smile on his face. There were frozen streaks of tears on his cheeks, illuminated in red as the blood vessels popped in his skin from the cold.   
“Shit—“ Roadhog was muttering, the anxiety in his brain taking over as he surveyed the pool of blood bellow him, from where ‘Rat had been laying.   
“Couldn’t walk annie further,” Jamie muttered, closing his eyes as he shivered into the warmth of the other’s coat. “Figured you’d fine me sooner ur’later big guy.”   
Mako held the other’s wrecked little frame, looking around wildly through the snow as he tried to come up with a plan. Where was the closest building? The closest hospital? They needed to get there fast. Junkrat had already lost so much blood, and being out in the cold like this without the proper clothing… he was bound to have hypothermia.

“—my song ya know.” ‘Rat was saying, peering up at the other, reaching to touch his face. Roadhog shook his head, looking down at the other in confusion as his mind whirled with answers.   
“’Eard me? I was singin’ so you’s find me, mate.” He smiled and placed a hand on the other’s snout, the rubber sticking to his bloody fingers as he tried to caress the cloth.   
“Heard you, yeah I heard you.” ‘Hog was muttering, hardly thinking of what he was saying as he started to jog back the way he came. He was jostling the younger with his gait and Junkrat winced from pain.   
They had to get there soon. They hadn’t a car, hadn’t the contacts to properly ask for help. Hell; it was Junkrat’s stupid idea to come to Russia, his stupid excuse for getting proper revenge on Omnics. He had been on a mini rampage and had taken a job to get them closer to the action. It was stupid, and it was dangerous and Roadhog should have said so. ‘Rat never listened to his warnings though, so what was the point of it? He had stayed quiet, clamped up like he usually did and just went along for the ride.   
But this ride was different; Roadhog could feel it as soon as they got on the train, as soon as they were eyeballed by those men. This wasn’t a regular job, and he should have seen it coming. He should have protested more when ‘Rat had refused to put on his jacket. Had only agreed to the heavy boots because they were going to be inside mostly anyways. How the job had been suspicious. How they hadn’t eaten right, or gotten contacts before making their way in here.   
Everything was wrong about this, and Junkrat had paid the price for it. He was bleeding, weak, possibly going to die from hypothermia at this rate.   
“—your fault.” ‘Rat hummed, tucked in close to the other’s armpit, soaking in the warmth as the wind bit at Mako’s flesh.   
‘Hog was shocked for a moment, confused as Junkrat muttered on.   
“Not y’ur fault ya know…” he was saying, hand rubbing useless little circles into the other’s chest.   
“Gotta keep you safe,” Mako retorted, his voice gruff as he pulled the other in tighter, trying to shield him from the snow.   
“Nawh mate…. Nawh…” ‘Rat was saying, looping his weak arm around the other’s neck. “Not y’ur job to keep me from myself. My own fault… my fault….”  
Roadhog shook with nervous energy, looking wildly through the snow as he passed the blood splatter and was chored with following his already covered footprints. It was his fault. It was all his fault. Junkrat was an idiot in his own right; blinded by pleasure and deaf to danger. A smart man with too much ambition and no concern for his well-being. So it fell to Roadhog to keep him straight, to take care of him and keep him safe. It was his job after all, and that had developed into something so much more over the years. And now he was going to lose that; he was going to walk out of here empty handed with only a limp corpse to show for it.   
“Got ‘em though,” Jamie sighed as Radhog took off his mask. “Got ‘em good. Got that last bomb right under the guy’s boot. Good shot.”  
“Yeah, you did good.” ‘Hog was muttered back, fixing his mask over the other’s face. “You did good Jamie. Breath.”   
And Junkrat smiled from behind the mask, his eyes drooping from exhaustion as the snow and wind bit around them in a ballet.   
“I was singin’ for ya….”


	2. The Snow Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Anon asked for some more gore and angst. This isn’t that gorey, but I knew I needed a follow up to 1812. You can read them out of order, they work both ways.)
> 
> "Jamison walked; slouched, as he cradled his broken arm. The cap to the metal elbow was falling off, and he could already tell he couldn’t move it, not willingly. The circuitry was broken. But ah, they sky. The pale blue of a setting sun in a sky already foggy with clouds as the snow whipped through it. Dancing women, in a rush to get to where they were going. Somewhere to bed.   
> Junkrat had somewhere to be."

Jamie stared up at the sky with blurry eyes. The snow falling down like a hundred dancing ladies; the petals and blooms of their dresses as they scattered across the land. Falling, dancing, spinning around him as he stared up at them.   
He slumped across the snowy ground, the ashen fallen and dirty smearing the white surface. He had lost his boot somewhere, and the cold was seeping in through his toes. What a difference a world made. What a difference winter was to Australia compared to what it was in Russia. What a difference.   
Jamie slumped and slide across the ground, his peg-leg battered as it crunched under his weight. The jarring drag of him pulling himself along, warry of his movements. His fingers itches as he brought them to his face, shaking and raw as he saw the ooze of blood and clog of clots as he stared at the wounds. Hadn’t lost anything. No need to start planning another bionic arm.   
How spectacular.   
A dry laugh escaped the man, the sound grating as he pulled himself through the snow. He stepped over bodies—their blown bits sticking to his feet as he trekked through the snow and destruction. He had made this. He had created this crater of snow and ash; the cobble stone ground bellow it bleeding into grass as the sprouts woke far too early. It wasn’t spring yet, not summer, but the peeks of greens seemed to startle the red and the white.   
Blood on snow.

Snow on grass.

Jamison walked; slouched, as he cradled his broken arm. The cap to the metal elbow was falling off, and he could already tell he couldn’t move it, not willingly. The circuitry was broken. But ah, they sky. The pale blue of a setting sun in a sky already foggy with clouds as the snow whipped through it. Dancing women, in a rush to get to where they were going. Somewhere to bed.   
Junkrat had somewhere to be. 

He walked through the freezing cold, his toes digging into the cinder and the snow. And he walked along the path, past the man without a head and through the bodies with missing limbs. He had done this; he had watched as their joints teared from one another, the fingers flying across the ground and blood exploding out of them like a firework. They had spread themselves across the snow, across the countryside as Junkrat seemed to disappear into that foggy snow. 

He liked how quiet it was though, how hollow his ears sounded with the ringing of the explosion. Everything was whining, and he liked how it sounded as he turned in the falling snow.   
He was at peace.   
He was dying. 

Jamie pressed deaf fingers against his shoulder, the small dip of flesh yielding to him as he touched something sticky and warm. Bullet holes. He was bleeding, he was holy there.   
The Junker chuckled to himself, pushing his finger into the wound and grunting loosely as he dug for the little metal slug. He pushed until the hole yielded, the blood soaking and oozing over his fingers as he grabbed hold of the little nugget and pulled. He grunted in pain, not letting the sound ruin his perfect silence as he tossed the bullet aside.   
It was warm with blood coasting over his body, and he could feel each broken little bone through him. His hips hurt, and his walk was far more lurked then normal. He was having trouble going straight, and each step seemed to drive him to the side of the road as he felt the adrenaline give way to pain. True pain. And he groaned into the sky, smile slowly spreading across his face as he held his arm.   
Head spinning; he was sure his eardrums were burst, sur the burns coating his good arm were going to need grafting. The flesh peeling to reveal fatty muscle, and singed skin cells. He was burning up. He was going to blow away soon.   
Scars were nothing though, and he’d be up and about real soon. Roadhog would find him.

“Right Roadie?” He was saying to the blankness, the burning air as he faced the wind in front of him. The whip and pull as the snow kissed his exposed chest. He’d be found. 

Junkrat moved away from the scene, away from the crater as he trudged into the unknown. The snow making a dress of his body as it encouraged him forwards. One more step, one more pull. You could accomplish anything if you just thought of it in ones. One step, one right, one left, one breath, one death.   
Jamie grunted as he slipped, his metal leg sliding across the icy ground as his hip groaned in protest. This was hard; this was harder than Jamie would have thought.   
But he smiled, and he pushed and he pulled until he was too exhausted to move anymore. Lying down was fine, right? Lying down didn’t matter so much as long as someone was looking for him. Roadhog was the tortoise and he was the hare. He’d make it here eventually. Jamie just needed to rest for a minute. 

So he slouched and fell sideways into one of the snow banks, body shaking and burning from being this close to the icy cold. But he lay there, shivering and smiling as he held his arm. He could hold it all together, if just for a little bit longer.   
Junkrat rolled into his back, staring up at the sky with blurry eyes. And he sighed.   
He sighed, and smiled and reached a finger towards the cloudy blur above him. It was like dancing ladies. Like hundreds of women were slowly sluffing down to him through the air, in their white dresses with somewhere to be.   
The flakes falling on his chest, his fingers, his cheeks as he felt tears starting to leek from his eyes. He was going to die.   
He smiled, and felt his teeth chatter, and the sound came so naturally to him in that moment he didn’t hold back. The chatter and the hum that seemed to slip out of his throat as he slowly lowered his arm to fit across his chest. Holding himself, holding himself together.   
The 1812 Overture. The tune filling his head as he watches those ladies dance, the violins and quiet drums as he saw them waltzing across the sky with their partners. Dancing for life, and dancing until death.  
His partner would be here soon. Roadhog would find him, and he had to make sure he didn’t disappear just yet. So he hummed, and he sung for the women dancing in the sky and for his partner that was no doubt working his way through that snow to him.   
“Huh Roadie?” He muttered again, coughing gently and continuing his song.   
Every dance needed a partner after all.


	3. Crysallized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Just thought I’d finish this little series. I needed some practise getting back into writing and I thought this would be a easy start. Just some nice fluff for ya’ll)

Junkrat lulled his head to the side, vision blurred as a dull thud in his head started to pulse around the rim of his eyes. Like a little drum, his head beat, his vision getting a bit clearer with each pulsation.   
The sound slowly started to filter in through the beats-- a ring, a shrill pull of a sound that brought back nostalgic feelings. It was like the ring after a blast, his ears musing and regretting their owner's actions. The sounds he would never hear again; until slowly the steady beep, beep, beeping assaulted him. The clatter of chairs, tables, wheels squeaking on clean floors with rushed people clambering along with them. Hospital noises. Junkrat hadn't been in many hospitals, but the sound was unmistakable.  
So Junkrat stirred, head dizzy and ears hallowed as the pulse and pull of the beeping and the release of air from the machines. Breathing. Breath in, out. The pump, pump, pumping of air into his lungs. Slowly, he blinked to attention, lulling around the room and taking in the damp colours, filtered light and decaying plaster.  
Air was being pumped into his lungs, the cold gush of it all releasing across his face and into his mouth and nose.   
Junkrat squirmed, reaching up blindly to remove the mask, and... faltering. His arm wasn't on. He sat dazed, before scrambling with his good hand and yanking off the mask.  
Like a call and receive someone was at his side instantly, hand at his elbow and putting the mask back on over his face. Junkrat blinked hard, eyes still blurry as he made out the hulking mass.

"Hog?" He asked, reaching blindly with his bad arm, brushing against the form before it sat back down like a patient shadow.   
They could have answered, but Jamie didn't hear-- his head still swimming as he took in the room. He was propped up, body laid limp against a pile of starchy pillows-- and that was when he pain started to set in. 

Junkrat hissed, arching as he started to feel the numb sting in his toes, his fingers and his stumps. The feeling of flesh being coaxed back from the dead. He raised his hand greedily to his face, unwilling to accept that he had lost the fingers. He needed one good hand-- just one. But at the sight of it-- expecting purple or stumped digits--he instead found red and swollen fingers still intact. Stinging, damaged at the nerves, but still operational. 

"E’re are we Hoggy?" Jamie mumbled, knowing the answer somewhat as he reached up and touched his throbbing shoulder. A gauze patch covered a damp wound there. There was a stinging in his hips, his feet, a numbness to his arm--- it was covered in bandages as well, he hadn't noticed.   
Junkrat rolled his head trying to recall it all-- trying---trying---trying to....

"Mako?" He asked, turned to face the shadow, blinking hard as the figure moved. Maybe he was starting to sound a bit panicked; because his brain wasn't computing, and the answers weren't coming. Maybe it wasn't Roadhog? Maybe he was with a stranger and that was why he wasn't getting an answer-- but there was still that hum in his ears, and the sound of air pumping was still filling the chamber of a room. 

The shadow was on him though, a large and comforting hand running along his neck-- thumb rubbing up the tight muscles and to his jaw. It was soothing, and Jamison lulled in the other's grip. Rough hands, and a tight grip that wasn't meant to be threatening but could still crush him if the owner so desired.   
It had to be Mako... it had to. 

Junkrat gazed around the room, the sounds slowly filtering into words as his attention was pulled back to the hulking mass beside him. It was Roadhog's voice, and his jolted way of speaking--saying words, saying something. So Jamie sat at attention, catching every other word and trying to make sense of it all. He was trying to explain something, something... almost desperate sounding.

"Stupid--... snow... hospital... you... surgery... can't... you... Jamie... Jamie... can't... Jamie... soon...." 

Junkrat sat, nodding slowly in tune with the other’s words, as if he was catching the meaning. He was squinting, trying to make his eyes focus long enough to make out the figure, to confirm it was Mako and to truly understand what it was he was communicating. He wasn’t able to concentrate long enough to have a conversation with Mako usually anyways, but if he could see if-- if he could just see him he would get the meaning in no time.

"Closer..." Junkrat was mumbling, reaching with both arms towards the other and trying to get him to lean in closer to the bed. The figure complied and slowly a familiar face came into view. The gnarled scars that spread across his face like tree roots, the splatter of ink, and the mess of grey hair that sprung from the pores at every opportunity. He looked less well kept then usual-- dark circles under his eyes, a pink tone to his skin where the veins had ruptured from the cold under the surface-- causing purple and pink spider webs to spread over his cheeks and his nose. A brooding expression, mocked with vivid blue eyes. 

Junkrat smiled, finally seeing something familiar as that beautiful and poked face finally came into his blurry sights. He was still hued around the edges, his hair a halo of white.  
"Hey," Jamison mumbled, reaching with shaky and cold fingers to trace the familiar patterns on the other's flesh, taking in the brooding expression for his own self gain. Roadhog had stopped talking somewhere along the way, his mouth had stilled and Junkrat squinted at him to try and recall what he had been saying. 

"E’re are we?" Jamie asked again, staring intently at the other.  
Roadhog closed his eyes and breathed a laugh, peeling 'Rat's fingers from his face and lowering his face down onto the bed beside him; his expression soft as he ran a large hand over the other's angled cheekbones. 

Junkrat scrunched his face, blinking back the beeping and the dizziness as he tried to focus.   
"What?" He asked, frustrated and tired as he tried to make out the other's expression. Roadhog seemed too calm, too content to be saying anything of importance. But he didn't move, he didn't answer, and Junkrat sighed in frustration.   
"Askin' ya a damn question an' ya can't even answer me? Who's the boss 'ere?" The blonde asked, nudging forwards- towards the other.  
A low rumble came from the other man, a laugh held deep in his throat as he stared affectionately at the other.   
"You are, boss" he grumbled back, his tone affectionate despite the thunderous monotone that came from him. Quiet as the snow fall, but as deep as the sea.   
"That's roight," Junkrat wheezed, sucking in the plastic air. He scrunched his nose, reaching to take the mask off, and being stopped once again. "It always smell this bad in yer mask?" He asked, swatting the other's hand away and settling down with compliance.

Slowly, pieces of yesterday were coming back to him-- yesterday, it could have been weeks ago for all he knew, there was no sense of time in this place. But the fight was filtering in to him-- the bullets, the blood, and the explosion. Junkrat smiled to himself remembering it all, touching at his own chest and legs to find the gauze wrapping around the burns there. He'd be fine in no time, have the same pitted skin as before and no one would be the wiser. It was a pretty explosion though-- the bright yellows and blacks against a snow white background. Like one of those movies.   
Junkrat chuckled to himself, and Roadhog seemed to catch the meaning. He jabbed the younger hard in the gut, getting a halted grunt in reply.  
"Oi!" Junkrat whined, covering up the spot with his hand, hissing with pain from the contact. 'Hog had known it would hurt, there was no doubt in that.

"Bein' reckless," the elder muttered, his expression stern as he pulled on Jamison's chin to make him look up.   
"Yeah, yeah." The blonde muttered back, trying to turn away. He was stopped forcefully, and brought back to attention.   
"No." Roadhog said sternly. Those icy eyes staring at him intently; 'Hog's expression hard as he kept Junkrat in his gaze. 

The younger swallowed, almost intimidated by the expression-- so unused to those eyes being turned on him. His attention kept as the other continued.   
"You're bein' reckless." Roadhog repeated, his gaze unwavering as he held Junkrat there, the wheeze of the machine filled the silence in the room. "We're plannin' more from now on…. Fuck Russia." The elder grunted out, still holding 'Rat's chin close to his own face.   
Silence drew between them for a moment before shrill laughter started to erupt from Jamie's lungs. His tight little laughter muffled against the inside of the oxygen mask as he wiggled on the bed and squeezed his eyes from laughing.   
"Fuck Russia--" he repeated, moving closer to the other still and bumping the clear little mask against Mako's face. He got a soft grunt in reply, his chin released as he Roadhog shuffled to sit back up.   
"Get some sleep," the bodyguard demanded, leaning back in his chair and away from the younger. 

Junkrat wheezed out the last of his laughter, still gazing at the other as he pulled back. Settled-- peaceful. 

"Fuck Russia..." he muttered again, as if it was the funniest punchline to the joke of their lives. "Snow was right good though."  
Roadhog grunted and crossed his arm, sitting back and watching the other. They sat in silence for a while until Junkrat's head started to nod, his attention waning as the the room grew quieter and quieter. 

"E’ere ya wanna go nex?" Junkrat asked, his speech slurred as he forced his eyes open, trying to focus on Roadhog some more.   
No answer came though as the blonde started to droop with sleep, the room becoming a fuzzy blur once more as the beeping made way into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on tumblr.


End file.
